by Martha Carr
She moved slowly down the sidewalk, studying the house, and just for fun went to take a look at the other side. That was when she found the dark-stained concrete steps that headed down into the ground beside the house.
Sure, go with the creepy-looking basement.
With one more glance up and down the street, which only had two other houses sectioned into rental units like this one across from an open space, Cheyenne moved quickly down the gritty steps until she reached the bottom landing. Dry leaves crunched beneath her Vans before she stepped on something soft and grossly squishy, but she ignored it. Instead, she placed a hand against the rusty metal door with a D on the top in peeling black paint and closed her eyes.
Her drow sight illuminated behind her eyelids, showing her what looked like the basement when the house was built—one giant storage room. But she did find a silhouette of one person inside, and they were human. She knew it was a human only because the shape was a dull shadow against the backlight moving through the walls. Drawing her hand away, she studied the rusty door again and shook her head.
With a deep breath, the halfling gave the metal door a quick, firm knock and waited.
A round of shuffling came from inside, followed by quick footsteps. Then the door opened all the way, and Cheyenne found herself staring at a man wearing a VCU baseball hat and grinning at her. Instantly, the sharp tingle of those watchful eyes she’d been feeling on her skin for two weeks—which she realized hadn’t turned up once today—washed back over her, only this time, the sensation moved over her face like a fan blowing straight at her. Even without the VCU hat, she knew this was the guy.
“You.” It came out low and threatening, although she was more shocked than anything else.
The man dipped his head toward her, and the grin didn’t waver. “I sure hope so. Hi, Cheyenne.”
The first thought through her mind was the image of her hands around his throat while she screamed at him to explain how he knew her name. Then she figured any good stalker knew who their target was.
“You’re the one who’s been following me.”
“Oh, that. We’ll get to that later. First, though, since you found me here, I assume you have a package for me.”
Too confused to do anything else, Cheyenne thrust the long, heavy whatever in the brown paper bag toward the man, who took it with both hands and a nod. He hefted the thing in his hands, then frowned. “It’s a little warm.”
“No one said anything about what temperature it was supposed to be.”
“Huh. Guess I overlooked that part. All right. Come on in.” The man stepped away from the door and gestured for Cheyenne to join him inside.
From where she stood, the room beyond looked like any other basement—cement walls, cement floors, one or maybe two lightbulbs she assumed hung from the ceiling and were turned on by pulling the dangling strings, judging by the light.
Staring at the man and watching for any sudden moves, the halfling slowly stepped through the doorway and into the creepy basement with the guy who’d been following her everywhere for days.
He closed the door firmly behind him, some of the dry leaves crunching when they got caught in the doorframe. Then he gestured toward the cheap folding card table off to the left and the two matching metal chairs set up across from each other. “Go ahead and take a seat.”
The halfling glanced at the table, even less inclined to sit down since it was apparently the only furniture in the room.
“Hey, relax, will ya? I’m coming too.” The man chuckled and shook his head as he crossed the cement floors toward the table. He sat in the closest chair, patted the other side of the table, and set the brown paper bag on the vinyl surface to start unwrapping the thing.
Thinking the package might have her next clue, Cheyenne relented and went to join him at the table. As she sat down in the other cheap metal chair, the man finished unwrapping the package. Amidst all that white butcher paper was a foot-long sub overflowing with banana peppers.
The halfling stared at it and gritted her teeth. “A sandwich.”
“One of the best. I get them to make it a special way for me every time. And it’s always perfect.”
He lifted one half from the paper and took a massive bite, sauce and red onions dripping onto the wrapper with thick splats. The sound of his chewing filled the basement, although he kept his lips politely sealed. The halfling clenched her fists in her lap and forced herself to stay in that chair.
Should’ve eaten it and brought him the wrapper.
Then she realized she hadn’t smelled a thing under all the odors assaulting her from the dry-cleaners and wondered just how much this guy knew about her. Specifically her enhanced sense of smell and how to work around it by sending her to pick up a snack from the dry-cleaner’s because he had the munchies.
“Hmm. It’s really not the same when it’s not cold.” The half a sub went back onto the paper with its twin, and the man rolled it all up again before sticking it back into the brown paper bag and sliding that to the far side of the table. When he looked up and saw Cheyenne glaring at him, he paused. “Oh, sorry. Did you want some?”
“This is ridiculous. I’ve spent enough time watching assholes eat sandwiches.” The halfling pushed to her feet, making the folding card table wobble on its unsteady legs.
She’d only made it a few steps before the other chair screeched across the cement and the man stood behind her. “We’re not done here. Where’s the Cuil Aní?”
“I have no idea what that is.”
“The copper box with the drow runes etched into the surface.”
That made Cheyenne stop dead in her tracks. Her first question would have been how the hell he knew about the puzzle box, but he’d been watching her for weeks, so that was useless. “I’m not stupid enough to carry that thing around with me all the time just for fun.”
“Well, maybe you should be. Because you’re here, and I’m the only person you have access to who can show you how to use it.” The man folded his arms and studied her a little longer, then that knowing smile crept back across his lips—not quite a grin, but just as eager. “Your father’s been waiting a long time to see you solve that thing.”
Cheyenne spread her arms. “My father’s locked up in Chateau D’rahl, so he won’t be seeing me do anything.”
“I know. And he sends his regards.”
It was exactly the right thing to say to make the halfling reconsider storming out of that basement and writing off the whole thing.
She shot him a sideways glance. “Are you FRoE?”
The man chuckled. “Now, what would make you ask me a dumbass question like that?”
“How else would a human know about that prison and my dad?”
The only response he gave her was the return of that grin, which looked a lot like that of a person who’d finally gotten the drow halfling to step right into his trap. Slowly, the man lifted both hands to show her they were empty. He whipped the VCU baseball hat off his head and tossed it to the floor, then brought his hands together. His fingers twisted and turned in a quick series of intricate gestures, and the air around him shimmered.
Before, Cheyenne’s stalker had looked like every other nondescript middle-aged man in Richmond. Now, his dark hair lengthened around his face, fading into a lighter, mottled brown. He gained maybe an inch in height, and the clean-shaven face now boasted tufts of the same light-brown hair like ruffled muttonchops grown too close to his ears instead of along his jawline. His nose flattened, the bridge wrinkling with extra skin, canines elongated. The glistening eyes that had regarded her with silent amusement now flashed bright silver in the dimly lit basement.
I have a Nightstalker stalker.
The halfling pursed her lips. “Nice trick.”
“Thank you.”
“You could’ve just started with that.” The halfling studied him and shook her head. “I’m really not amused to have brought you your sandwich.”
“This was the only way
I knew to get your attention without bringing far more people into this than I wanted. Go home, Cheyenne. I’ll send you the information you wanted on Durg.”
“What?” That new revelation was even more surprising than a Nightstalker’s illusion spell that had shown up as a human when she’d glanced through the walls. “You’re gu@rdi@n104?”
“Now you’re puttin’ it together.” The Nightstalker’s thin lips twitched into another smile, wrinkling the flattened bridge of his catlike nose even more. “No one calls me that outside the forum, though. Name’s Corian.”
“So all that hunting for clues—”
“Was just to bring you here in person. Don’t tell me you would’ve jumped up out of your desk chair if gu@rdi@n104 had invited you out for a one-on-one over lunch.”
No. She wouldn’t have.
Corian nodded and scratched his chin. “I know you wanna get that orc, and you made it this far, so I’ll keep my promise. You’ll have everything you need by the time you get home. When you’re finished, come back here with that copper box, and I’ll show you what it’s for.”
“You just wasted two hours of my day tracking down some really awful clues with nothing to show for it. Why would I come back here with the box?” A humorless huff of a laugh escaped the halfling. “Why would I come back here at all?”
“Because you can’t find anyone else willing to so much as touch the thing. Because I’m a lot more than willing, and because I’ve been around enough legacy cycles to show you the way yours works.” Corian spread his arms and lifted his chin with a smirk. “Guess you’ll just have to trust me, huh?”
“Right. You know, somehow I’m not convinced.” Scoffing, Cheyenne flung her hand toward the card table and headed for the door again. “Enjoy your sandwich.”
The door opened easily enough, and the Nightstalker who claimed to know her drow father didn’t try to stop her. Smart move, stalker.
The dry leaves crunched under her feet as she stomped up the stained concrete stairs, feeling the heat flaring at the base of her spine. She pushed it back down and headed down the sidewalk toward her car. It was completely dark outside now, the two streetlamps on either side of the open space across the street casting pools of dirty yellow light across the asphalt.
She was so focused on trying to work out in her head how Corian could have anything to do with her dad, let alone know how the puzzle box worked when he wasn’t even a drow that she didn’t hear the cars pull up to the curb on the other side of the street. The halfling barely registered the sound of multiple car doors closing, and she didn’t look up until she heard low chuckles and a menacing growl.
Still a short distance from her car, she spared a glance across the street and saw a dozen magicals headed toward her. The orc in the lead looked remarkably familiar, which surprised her until she recognized that bent tusk—the one she’d almost uprooted from his fat jaw with her right hook.
Chapter Ninety-Three
The orc saw her recognize him, and he grinned. The darkness around him glowed from the ball of green fire he’d conjured in his meaty hand. One of the trolls stalking across the street behind him let out a playful whoop, and the goblins snickered.
How did these assholes find me?
That was all the time she had before she let the heat of her drow magic burst from the base of her spine and wash over her. The Goth girl on the sidewalk switched into the drow halfling, who would be all but invisible in the darkness if it weren’t for her bone-white hair.
Sneering, the orc tossed the fireball at her, and she ducked. She started to run for her car before realizing how much damage the thing would take in a match between her and a dozen pissed-off magicals, so she darted in the other direction instead. The lashing black tendrils erupted from both hands and writhed across the street. A few of them wrapped around the orc’s wrist and jerked it aside, which sent his next green fireball into the air. It barely missed crashing into the roof of the next apartment house, and Cheyenne tried again.
She sent the other tendrils whipping across the asphalt. They took the lead orc by the ankle and flung him and the troll behind him back into the group of thugs. Then her attackers scattered up and down the street, conjuring shards of electric-blue and churning spheres of orange energy and more bursts of green and purple fire.
Cheyenne took it all in. These are not the kind of odds I’m used to.
She dodged a crackling, hissing pillar of blue energy and threw one of her black spheres into the fray, followed by another, and then another as she darted this way and that to avoid all the spells casting their deadly light on the asphalt.
One of the goblins doubled back around her car and launched thick shards of what looked like bright-purple glass at her. The halfling felt the searing chill of them before they touched her, and she tossed aside the second troll caught in her tendrils before everything slowed around her. Her enhanced speed gave her enough time to dart away from the icy shards that would have pierced her body the next second.
A jolt of searing heat caught her in the back of her knee, and she cried out. The dark street swarming with magicals returned to normal speed as Cheyenne’s leg buckled beneath her. Orange lines of energy sparked down her calf and up her thigh, numbing her leg until she thought she wouldn’t be able to put any weight on it.
“Can’t hide now, mór úcare,” one of the magicals screamed, and another round of laughter issued up from the thugs closing in on every side. “Your secret’s out.”
“We know who you are!” The snarl came from Cheyenne’s right and slightly behind her, and she whirled that way as well as she could on her deadened leg to throw a black orb of drow energy in that direction. Someone cackled. She couldn’t focus on all of them at once. “And the Crown’s next cycle stops here. Right after we stop you.”
Two purple balls of flame hurtled toward her from the left, and the halfling staggered back to avoid them before sending her own black and purple spheres right back. Dirt and grass erupted in a spray somewhere behind her, and another troll rushed her head-on. He got close enough to get a face full of her lashing black tendrils whipping across his cheeks and tearing his flesh. They coiled around his neck, and Cheyenne got a glimpse of the thick silver chain around that neck before it disappeared under the troll’s black t-shirt. She was willing to bet one of those bull pendants dangled at the end of it.
She slammed the strangled troll into the grass face-first and took another step back. Footsteps pounded across concrete somewhere behind her, echoing too much for the open lawn between the rental houses. The halfling wanted to turn around and see who it was, but the orc with the loosened tusk was coming up fast on her right.
“My turn.” He swung a huge fist at Cheyenne’s face, and she lifted her forearm to block the punch. Her wounded shoulder screamed as their arms collided, then she grabbed the orc’s wrist with both hands and conjured her purple sparks right into his flesh.
Bellowing, the orc wrenched his wrist from her grip and shoved her away. Normally, it wouldn’t have done much but make her step back, but he’d slammed his hand into her damaged shoulder. That and her still-numb leg sent her crashing to her knees with a furious cry.
Wiping the spit from his swollen mouth and that wobbly tusk, the orc laughed and stomped toward her.
Then the dark street lit up with a flash of blinding white light. Daggers of silver energy like lightning hit the ground and raced across the grass in a dozen directions. A shrill cry rose from one of the trolls, then the two goblins beside him, and the entire gang of magicals coming after the drow halfling let out wails and shrieks of pain.
The orc stopped a foot away from Cheyenne, growing rigid as the white streaks hit his boots and raced up his legs, crackling along his body. He let out a bellow of rage and pain but couldn’t move an inch while the attack flared through him. A body dropped somewhere behind her.
The orc’s eyes widened as the blazing white current fizzled away from his body. “What the—”
H
e didn’t get to finish the question. A dark blur raced past him. It didn’t stop long enough to engage before hurtling by, but the orc’s right arm erupted in a spray of dark blood and the tattered shreds of his black jacket. The orc screamed and clamped a hand over his frayed bicep, doubling over and completely forgetting about the panting half-drow and her numb leg in front of him.
Cheyenne forced herself to move through the pain and scrambled across the grass, her eyes darting across the street toward the other side of her car. What is that?
The dark blur barreled down the street before another brilliant white flash of light erupted on a troll’s chest. He choked and dropped. The goblin beside him flung a hissing streak of purple energy at where his thug friend had stood. It whistled through the air, and the troll’s open mouth crashed shut with a crunch before his spell hit a tree in the open space. Whatever force had slammed his jaw shut and lifted him half a foot off the ground now thumped him back down onto the pavement with a sickening smack. The dark blur kept moving.
Magicals shrieked and screamed and fell silent again all around Cheyenne as they lit up with white light or were thrown aside like bowling pins. The dark streak made one more circle around the street and the halfling’s car before finally stopping. There stood Corian, his Nightstalker form revealed.
He let out a quick sigh and scanned the street again, which was silent now but for a groan or two coming from the fallen magical thugs scattered around them. Cheyenne might have seen the goblin pushing himself up on one knee before Corian did, but it hardly mattered. The Nightstalker whirled and raced toward the goblin. A flash of something not entirely silver streaked through the air before the goblin froze where he knelt. He choked, his eyes wide and unseeing, as a spray of dark blood erupted from his slit throat. The body hit the grass with a thump, and Corian stood there looking down at him.